triumphant
in checkered shirts and pants
too tight
go out
with hair frozen by the wind
ashing your cigarettes
on this sidewalk city
buy a drum machine
and wake up in a tangle of limbs,
assuredly, your own.
will he
burn both hands making coffee
bring cups, bandaged
sit beside you
and grab with loose
arms in the shunted light
of mid after noon through the
window in a cinder block wall
a breast, on accident
both, asleep
with
could never grasp a staircase
would never
leave this bed.
Author notes
i am quickly becoming installation art
So.. whats you think about it?
Comments
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this just made me want to die. kind of.
but you write so well.
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hm. why?
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